


Cohabitation

by mxmoriarty (cerseimoriarty)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 20:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerseimoriarty/pseuds/mxmoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jim burns down Sebastian's flat, the sniper has little choice but to move in with him. However, spending that much time with Jim takes some getting used to, especially around the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cohabitation

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for pieofthelord on tumblr, for the Mormor Secret Santa exchange. I hope you like it! Have a Merry Christmas, my dear xx

Smoke billowed thickly up into the sky, ash floating down on Sebastian like papery, grey snowflakes. He ignored them as they settled in his hair and pushed through the crowed, toward a policeman. 

Earlier when he’d heard the deafening boom of an explosion near his side of town he’d felt nothing but confusion—was it one of theirs? It couldn’t be. There was no one in his neighbourhood who’d displeased Jim as far as Sebastian knew, and he’d worked his way far enough up in the ranks that he _would_ know of such a thing. 

Wiring bombs wasn’t his specialty, but he could rig up something passable enough, and even if there was the need for something elaborate, he’d still likely tag along under the guise of supervising. There was nothing like the detonation of a bomb—that earth-pounding echo, the rushing heat of flames. It was beautiful in a way; like a fiery sun exploding on earth. 

When it was _his_ personal bit of earth that was currently smoldering, it was a lot less beautiful. 

“What the fuck happened to my flat?” He raised his voice to be heard over the police sirens, ignoring firemen running into the building to pull out people who might be trapped within the wreckage. The lives of his neighbours were of little concern to him; there were documents in his flat, his laptop, a cache of illegal firearms, more knives than he could explain, and other smaller, more sentimental objects—the small wooden box in the back of his wardrobe where he kept the things that meant something to him; his old Army dog tags, a photo of his mum, the zip drive containing a book he’d written and never had the time to do anything with. 

A policeman turned around, shorter than him by a good six inches; he had at least a decade on Sebastian and his greying hair was receding under his cap. “I’m sorry sir, you’ll have to step back and let the firemen do their job. Is there anyone inside?”

“No, I live alone. I have things I need to get, though.”

The copper was unimpressed. “I’m sorry, sir. You’ll need to get back behind the barricade.” 

“Fuck the barricade. I need to—“ His mobile rang—three trills in quick succession; his tone for Jim. The one that meant emergency. 

He scowled at the interruption and took a step back, reaching into the pocket of his leather coat to retrieve it. When he answered it, he turned away. “Jim. This isn’t really a good time.”

“I see you got my gift.” 

Sebastian fell silent, brow furrowed in confusion as a news van pulled into the parking lot; an attractive blonde woman getting out, microphone in hand. Instinctively, he ducked back further into the crowd. “Whatever it is, I don’t think it survived the blast.” 

Jim’s burst of laughter down the phone line raised the small hairs on the back of his neck. “The blast was my gift, pet. I’ll send a car over for you shortly. Merry Christmas.” 

***

Sebastian sat in the back of the sleek Mercedes silently, his jaw occasionally tensing as his teeth grit together while he rehearsed just what he was going to say once he saw Jim. 

Of course Jim wasn’t in the back of the car waiting to meet him. He’d never waste his time tagging along when he could just send his driver to fetch Sebastian and bring him to his flat, never mind that he’d just exploded Sebastian’s fucking flat with no explanation and had the temerity to call it a gift. 

In the three years Sebastian had known Jim, his gifts had never been sentimental in nature. They’d always been tools—useful, utilitarian. The first year, Jim had taken Sebastian to Savile Row and bought him a handful of bespoke suits to wear, because he disliked that the sniper had no formal clothes of his own. 

After his discharge from the army, Sebastian had thrown his suits out in a fit of pique. It’d been a final rebellion against his father and the sort of life he’d grown up in. Ties had always felt like nooses around his neck and he’d been sure he’d given up that sort of life once he’d started working as a hit man, allowing himself to get mired in the never-ending turf wars of small time criminals. 

That was, until Jim Moriarty had plucked him out of obscurity and started to mold him himself. He worked through a series of middlemen to deliver orders, and Sebastian wound up working for the man for a good six months before actually ever laying eyes on him. The first time he’d met him, a car very much like this one picked him up one day as he walked home and took him to Ozwald Boateng. Jim was waiting there for him, his crow-like black eyes watching keenly as Sebastian had gotten measured by a tailor for fit and shown a variety of patterns and colours and styles. 

Jim had had the brass to call it a Christmas bonus and Sebastian wondered if he were mad. 

The next year, his gift was a Walther P-38, which was artfully wrapped in gold foil and topped with a ridiculous red bow, left for him on his kitchen table, though he’d never given the consulting criminal a key. Still, he’d been pleased with the gun. He didn’t have many foreign pieces and it handled well. It had come with an address and time and Sebastian had realised it really wasn’t a gift at all—not chosen for Sebastian because Sebastian would like it—but chosen because this hit was for a Yakuza member and it amused Jim to have the man taken out with a gun favoured by his own gang. 

Still, it had been better than a wardrobe full of suits, and Sebastian had thanked him in kind; going down on him in Jim’s living room, his knees cold and aching on Jim’s hardwood floor. A year and two months into his employment they’d started a sort of…thing between them, never named, but undeniable. 

Jim was mad, controlling, quick to anger, but also whip crack smart, clever, and funny and his lilting tones could make blood pulse hotly in Sebastian’s veins with little more than a heavy lidded look and a purr of his name. 

Christmas was a week away, and Sebastian hadn’t yet been given his gift this year. Until now, he supposed. He knew Jim didn’t care for his flat—it was too far from Jim’s own Conduit Street place. It was working class, and comfortably cluttered with books and papers, overstuffed sofa dipping in on one side from repeating sitting. It was everything his stately childhood home hadn’t been, and that, too, he supposed was his own form of rebellion. 

It was also a stark contrast from Jim’s place, with its floor-to-ceiling windows, spotless chrome kitchen and sleek, modern, black and white furniture. His books were neatly stacked in shelves built into the walls and alphabetised like a bloody library. His DVDs were as well; along with a flat screen television which receded into the wall neatly behind a black and white Kandinsky print when not in use. 

What the hell was Jim expecting with this so-called gift of his? That Sebastian would move in for lack of anywhere else to go, and Jim would just slot him away neatly in a cubby hole himself, labeled S for sniper? 

Fuming, he dug is his short, blunt nails hard into the Mercedes’ black leather. 

***

When he got into the flat he found Jim in his office, typing away busily at his laptop and he held up a finger to silence Sebastian before he could even start in on him. Sebastian’s open mouth snapped shut again with a click of teeth and he stared hard at Jim’s raven black head bent over the laptop until Jim finished whatever he’d been doing and shut it, looking up at the sniper expectantly. 

“Hiiii,” Jim greeted, dragging the word out. He smiled, though the action didn’t quite reach high enough to light up his eyes. It never did; it was as though smiling was just an expression he’d seen others display and he mimicked it rather than feeling the true emotion. 

“You,” Sebastian pointed at him. “What are you playing at, here?”

Jim’s brows rose slightly. “Am I playing a game? That’s interesting. Want to fill me in on what it is?” 

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “You know.” 

“If you’re talking about the little campfire, that was a bit of fun. I was going to arrange to have you outside when it kicked off, but I thought that’d ruin the surprise.”

“Little campfire—!” he started, stalking forward. His palms slammed flat on Jim’s desk as he leaned over him. “I’ve lived in that place for years.” 

“Mm.” Jim’s eyes trailed up the cords of Sebastian’s arms to meet his face with a rather nonplussed shrug. “It showed.” He reached out, his hand on Sebastian’s forearm, slowly finger walking up the bulge of his bicep through his shirt. He stood as he reached higher, his hand tracing up to Sebastian’s shoulder, “Do you not like your gift?” 

“If you wanted me to move in, you could’ve just asked.” 

“I don’t ask!” Jim bit out, the bark of words much louder than the tone he’d been previously speaking in. His hand abruptly darted out, gripping Sebastian’s neck right under his jaw, giving it a squeeze. One handed, it wasn’t enough to restrict Sebastian’s breathing overmuch, though he couldn’t help his soft gasp at Jim’s fingers digging into his flesh. 

They held each other’s gaze for a moment; Jim’s face utterly expressionless while his fingers tightened and Sebastian’s breathing became a little more hitched. Heat pooled low in his belly at the gesture and he inwardly cursed his body for being so utterly predictable. 

Jim’s eyes tore away from Sebastian’s to fix on his groin and another smile curled on his lips. “So predictable, Sebastian,” he murmured as if reading Sebastian’s mind, all traces of the anger that had just burst out of him moments ago completely gone. His hand relaxed on Sebastian’s throat, no longer gripping, just holding him in place, lightly petting his skin. 

Sebastian inhaled again, feeling his lungs fill with air. “Like you wouldn’t have reacted the same way if I’d put my hands around your throat.” 

He relaxed under Jim’s touch now, the repeated brush of his fingers against the slight stubble on Seb’s throat almost soothing. The heat in his stomach dissipated slowly as his shoulders lowered a little, no longer holding himself up bow-strung tight. 

“I might have,” Jim agreed pleasantly. “Or I’d have grabbed the letter opener off the desk and you’d have lost your trigger finger.” 

Sebastian snorted. “That’d have been a hassle for both of us.” 

“You think you’re the only sniper in the world?” 

“I know I’m the best one.”

***

As it turned out, Jim hadn’t left all of Sebastian’s things to burn in his smoldered flat. That was one small mercy at least. He’d been about to question just what he was supposed to do for clothes when Jim had waved him off with the answer of, “Spare bedroom,” as though he’d seen the question forming in Sebastian’s mind before it even needed to be spoken.

“I’m not sleeping in the spare room. If I’m moving in with you, then I’m _moving in_ with you,” he muttered, more to himself than Jim, as he disappeared down the hall to investigate the room. It was spotless like the others; done up in black and white, with an intricate chrome headboard that had slats which were strong enough to take cuffs, something Jim and Sebastian had found out during a rather…inventive afternoon a few months back. 

Sebastian smiled slightly, his tongue darting out to lick over his lower lip at the memory of Jim’s teeth marks there.

_No._ He shouldn’t be thinking of that. He was still angry with Jim for destroying his fucking flat. His features arranged into a much more appropriate scowl and he crossed the room, pulling open the doors on the wardrobe to find, surprisingly, all of this clothing. His best guns were squirreled away in the back and he’d bet if he looked elsewhere in the flat he’d find his knives and his laptop as well. Jim seemed to have got all the important things out, then. 

Something else was nestled in the back of the wardrobe too, and he impatiently pushed aside his suits to get to that little wooden box he saw there. He opened it and leafed through it quickly; everything was present and accounted for in there too, but the fact that Jim knew well enough to bring that over meant he’d known about it all along, and something about that settled like heavy stones in the pit of Sebastian’s stomach. 

The contents of that box he didn’t talk about with anyone. It made him feel uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t entirely articulate that Jim knew about those pieces of him, of the life he’d lived before he met Jim. Of course he shared himself with Jim; he shared his life as it was currently with the consulting criminal, but Jim saw sentimentality as weakness and try as he might, Sebastian couldn’t entirely exhume all bits of emotion from his past. He didn’t mind the way Jim had filled every crack in his life with himself like a persistent growing vine. Hell, he’d welcomed it willingly, but this was different. It was…too much, in a way. 

It made him feel flushed and furious and worst of all, embarrassed. He’d seen every inch of Jim’s flat in the time they’d been together, and if he had anything even approaching a sentimental memento from his past, Sebastian hadn’t been witness to it. 

He took the box and stalked back into Jim’s office, unsure what he even expected to gain from kicking up a fuss about its existence. “I guess you really did bring everything important over from my flat, then.” 

When Jim didn’t answer, he pressed on. “Did you look inside it?” 

Jim leaned back in his plush, black leather office chair, reclining the slightest bit, though the springs in the chair squeaked in protest and Jim’s brows furrowed in displeasure. Sebastian made an immediate mental note to oil the cogs in the chair. 

“When do you mean?” he asked.

The question brought Sebastian up short. “There have been other times?” 

Again, a smile crawled over Jim’s face and he leaned back in the chair again. _Squeeeeeak._ “I’ve seen everything in your flat, my dear. Read your little book too, about your adventures.” 

The stones in Sebastian’s gut rose up to his throat and he swallowed thickly. Curiosity burned into him at Jim’s opinion of it, though he wouldn’t ask. He hadn’t written it for anyone other than himself. The bits in the novel about his time hunting in India were one thing, even if the game he sought was less than legal, but it wasn’t as though he could publish a novel about the criminal activity he’d indulged in which got him expunged from the army. It was just…a record of his life, for lack of a better word. He’d written it in the long months between the army and meeting Jim, when his only legacy had felt like a string of disappointments and petty crimes and he’d had no one but himself, because not even his family had wanted anything to do with him. 

“It’s a bit maudlin,” Jim added. “It reads like Hemingway.”

“You shouldn’t have read—“ 

“I didn’t say it wasn’t good,” he continued, a certain twinkle in his beetle black eyes. “It’s a far cry better than a lot of the drivel that graces the best seller list.” 

Despite the praise, Sebastian should still be furious with him at the complete invasion of privacy. He wanted to be, but those heavy stones of apprehension evaporated from his gut and pride bloomed fiercely in his chest. “You think so?”

“Of course, pet. I especially like the part where you take down a tiger with your bare hands.” Jim’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in a perfect pantomime of shock. “I was on the edge of my seat as I read it.” 

“That bit might’ve been embellished.” 

“Oh?”

“Just a little.” 

***

The police investigation of the explosion ended with the arrest of a local arsonist. Sebastian had been called to the station to give his statement and asked if he’d seen the bloke skulking around his block of flats.

The bloke—a kid more than anything, he couldn’t be much older than eighteen—sported a buzz cut and a wispy moustache that had barely filled in. He wasn’t anything like the sort of people Jim usually dealt with and Sebastian found himself wondering where he’d found him to pin the crime on. Maybe he was the child of someone Jim wanted to teach a lesson. As the kid was being led away in cuffs, Sebastian caught his eye from across the room, mouthing, “Moriarty says hi.” 

He watched in satisfaction as the kid noticeably paled, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to put as much space between himself and Sebastian as possible. Sebastian smirked; he never grew tired of seeing the fear Jim’s name struck into people’s eyes. 

That alone was almost worth losing his flat for. _Almost._

***

Living with Jim wasn’t as bad as he’d assumed it would be. He’d only been there two days, but it wasn’t as though he’d never spent the night at Jim’s flat before. At this point, it almost felt like a dirty weekend. Except…with much less emphasis on the dirty, considering they’d been busy enough with work that they’d barely had time to touch each other. 

Business always picked up around the holidays, as if being forced to spend more time with family reminded their clients just how many people they really wanted dead. Not that Sebastian could really say he minded. There was nothing better to combat the stress of packed shops, droning Christmas music, and relentless forced fucking cheer better than getting a mark in his sights and pulling the trigger, watching them crumple lifelessly to the ground. 

However, Christmas was just days away now, and Sebastian still hadn’t got a proper present for Jim, not to mention that they didn’t even have a tree. Jim didn’t mentioned the lack of tree, nor anything else Christmas-related, as though the rest of the world getting ready for the holidays hadn’t invaded Jim’s personal bubble at all. 

Sebastian didn’t doubt that, but Christmas was going to come all the same whether Jim paid it any attention or not and his flat was Sebastian’s now too, so he made it a point to buy a tree one evening when he had some free time. 

Jim wasn’t home when Sebastian got in, and he carried the pine into the living room, leaving a trail of needles across the wood floor and plush white rug marking the way he’d just come. He was still under the tree, getting it properly screwed into the plastic base when he heard the front door open and close again and the familiar sound of Jim’s footfalls against the wood. 

Those footsteps made their way casually into the living room before coming to an abrupt stop. 

“Sebastian.” The name was spoken in a measured tone that usually meant trouble, though Sebastian brushed it off, not being able to drudge up anything from recent memory that he’d done to deserve it.

“Hmm?” he asked, tightening the last screw in the base of the tree and then sliding out from under it and sitting up. He reached up to brush pine needles from his hair, watching them tumble down to the rug. 

“Why,” Jim continued on slowly, as if he were forming each word delicately in his mouth before speaking it, “is there a tree shedding all over my living room?”

“Because it’s almost Christmas.”

“I have an artificial tree in storage, and it doesn’t go in here. It goes in the parlour.” 

Sebastian picked up one of the pine needles from the rug, idly rolling it between his fingers, feeling the sharp pinch of it when the pointed end punctured his skin. “We spend our evenings in here. We’d never see it if it was in the parlour. And we’re not having a fake tree.” 

“Oh. Are we not?” 

Such a simple phrase, yet it sent off warning bells in Sebastian’s mind and this, _this_ right here was why he’d never brought up the possibility of cohabitation with Jim.

He didn’t even have time to formulate an answer before Jim continued. “Do you know what real trees have on them, Sebastian? Insects. They carry insects and then they brown and die and you’re left with a bare tree shedding brown needles all over the ground. Does any of this sound like something I’d want _in my living room?”_ the last few words were all but shouted and Sebastian sucked in a slow breath, counting down from five in his head before speaking. 

“Alright, fine. I’ll get rid of it and—“ 

That was as far as he got before Jim had already walked away and he heard the distant sound of his office door shut down the hall. So, instead of explaining himself, he did what any rational, calm, thirty-something would do; he flipped off the wall in the direction Jim had gone and scooped up a handful of pine needles to throw after him for good measure, before setting about cleaning up the tree. 

***

The flare of anger that Sebastian felt at the argument had burned itself out quickly enough and was all but extinguished by the time he’d gone to bed that night—by himself, because Jim wasn’t like normal people and he didn’t keep to any sort of predictable sleep schedule. Oftentimes, he didn’t sleep at all and when he did, it was with his head pillowed on his arms next to his laptop in his office and not in his bedroom at all. 

However, when Sebastian rolled over, movements still slow and languid from sleep early the next morning, he felt a warm, solid body next to him and instinctually curled up closer to it. 

Jim didn’t stir when Sebastian slung an arm over his back, before he stifled a yawn against the pillow and slipped his hand up Jim’s pyjama top without even bothering to open his eyes. His fingers slid over the knobs of Jim’s spine, tracing lower towards the small of his back. 

Eventually, Sebastian’s hand slid the rest of the way down to Jim’s arse, and he blinked his eyes open in the pale morning light to nose his way closer to Jim, pressing a sloppy kiss against his cheek, feeling the scratch of Jim’s stubble against his lips. 

Jim stayed still and pliant with sleep, until Sebastian’s hand slid under his pyjama bottoms, surpassing his pants to massage one of the globes of his arse. His fingers had just started to dip between the crease before Jim’s eyes snapped open and he reached back to grab Sebastian’s wrist in a tight enough grip that he could feel his bones grind together. 

“Sebastian. I’m sleeping.” Jim’s voice was thick, scratchy with tiredness, and he gave Sebastian’s wrist one more painful squeeze with his vice-like fingers, before letting it go.

Sebastian scowled and pulled his hand back, rolling over to put his back to Jim as he fell back to sleep.

***

Considering Jim’s seeming disinterest in Christmas, Sebastian was shocked to come home the next day and find the smell of biscuits baking in the oven. He followed the scent to the kitchen where a rack of gingerbread was cooling and saw another baking tray full of them still in the oven. The sink was piled high with dishes and the worktop was still littered with eggshells and traces of flour. 

Jim stood in the middle of the chaos, humming softly to himself, wearing a white apron as he started to slide the cooled biscuits from the baking tray onto a plate. 

Sebastian’s brows rose watching him, shocked and slightly in awe at stumbling into such a domestic scene. What had got into Jim? 

“Doing a little Christmas baking?” 

Jim continued scooping the biscuits onto the plate, evidently having heard him come in. “Something like that. You’ll be delivering these tomorrow to a few of our associates.” 

If possible, Sebastian’s brows rose even higher on his forehead. “What, _really?”_

“Mm-hm.” 

“What happened to you, Scrooge? Did you wake up and discover the real meaning of Christmas or something?” he teased, reaching for one of the biscuits. It was still pleasantly warm from the oven and a perfect golden brown. Who knew Jim could bake? He’d certainly never shown off any particular culinary talents in the time Sebastian had known him. 

Jim looked up when he took a biscuit, lips pursed with amusement and answered in a lilting singsong, “Those aren’t for yooou…” 

“This one is.” From the looks of it, Jim had made batches of them. He was mental if he thought Sebastian wasn’t going to sneak at least one.

“You won’t like them.” 

“They’re gingerbread, what’s not to like?” 

Jim chuckled softly at that, watching Sebastian take a bite of it. It wasn’t until he was chewing that Jim added, “It’s not the gingerbread I think you’ll dislike. It’s the rat poison.” 

Sebastian made a strangled sound and darted to the sink, spitting out the mouthful of biscuit. Then he turned on the tap, ducking his head under it to rinse his mouth out, just to make sure it was all gone.

Behind him, Jim nearly howled with laughter. “Oh tiger, the look on your _face!”_

“Rat poison. Jesus _fuck.”_ Sebastian took another mouthful of water, swishing it around before spitting it down the drain. “You let me take a bite of that.” 

“Calm down; one bite won’t hurt you.” 

“You still could’ve said, you mad bastard!” Sebastian exclaimed, though the mirthful look shining in Jim’s deep black eyes was contagious and he felt his own face break out into a bemused grin as he shook his head. 

It made sense, in hindsight; it wasn’t like Jim would ever actually make the effort to cook unless something in it was worth his while, and poisoning people who’d annoyed him via baked goods was definitely worth his while. 

Sebastian wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Tell me you at least have enough ingredients to make some normal biscuits for us too?”

“If you want normal biscuits, you’ll have to make them yourself.” 

The oven timer dinged, signaling that the next batch of biscuits had finished cooking. Jim pulled on an oven mitt to retrieve them and added casually, “Oh, and Seb? You’re doing the washing up.”

***

After the near poisoning incident, Jim went back to spending most of his time on his own again, holed up in his office. Now that they were living together, they seemed to spend less time with each other than when they’d maintained separate residences. 

Sebastian had tried to bridge the gap between them by sliding closer to Jim on the sofa one evening when he’d been reading, but he’d barely got his arm around Jim’s shoulders before Jim gave him a such a look that told him if he didn’t pull his arm back again, he was likely to lose it. 

Sebastian just gave an exasperated sigh and got up altogether, muttering something about going to clean his rifles. 

It wasn’t as though Jim had never gone through periods of time where he seemed pricklier than usual. Sebastian knew that during those periods he needed to give the consulting criminal a wide berth, but that was at lot easier when he had somewhere else to go. Usually if Jim were in a mood, Sebastian would just fuck off back to his own flat, order take out, and spend the night watching Netflix, or find a card game somewhere to throw some money into. 

Though considering his usual means of escape were now nothing but a smoldering mess of wood and plasterboard, he found himself at a loss. Maybe it was some kind of test—maybe Jim just wanted to see what Sebastian would put up with, but he should know by now that the answer to that was _a fucking lot._

It just didn’t make any sense to him—why force him to move in and then ignore him when he was there?

If that was really the way Jim wanted things, then Sebastian could play that game too. He’d give as good as he got and ignore Jim right back. For two days the only times they spoke at all were work related. At the end of the second day, Sebastian was to go out in Jim’s place to meet with a few clients who were being annoyingly persistent about a face-to-face talk. That happened at times—some people were reluctant to put their trust, and more importantly, their funds, into someone they’d only spoken with via email. 

Sebastian didn’t mind showing up to meetings in Jim’s place. He wasn’t the actor that Jim was, but he could affect a cool, detached exterior that showed their clients just how lucky they were to be graced with Moriarty’s presence, and so far none had been able to figure out that they man they’d met with wasn’t actually Moriarty himself.

These clients were particularly amenable once Sebastian had met with them and the meetings ended sooner than he’d expected, so he’d decided to do a bit of Christmas shopping. Considering he was an only child who would rather swallow the barrel of his own gun than speak to his father again, and had little in the way of friends, his shopping list was unsurprisingly short. It began and ended with Jim, as most things in Sebastian’s life did. 

Of course Jim was nearly impossible to shop for. If there were something he wanted, he’d just buy it for himself, and he had impossibly high standards when he was given a gift. 

Books were out, because Sebastian had no idea what Jim had already read and Jim’s tastes seemed to lean toward dry academic texts as opposed to the latest bestseller fiction anyway. Anything for the flat was out; Jim hated clutter and the place was already no doubt decorated to perfection in Jim’s eyes. He’d probably baulk at the sentimentality of plane tickets to go on a joint holiday. What exactly did that leave, then? 

He had an extensive wardrobe that always seemed to be getting additions, so what about another tie? Something designer and expensive and suitably muted in colour would probably be just the thing. 

Sebastian headed for Savile Row and ducked into Gieves & Hawkes, perusing the selection for the better part of an hour before deciding upon a silk navy blue tie that had faint cream-coloured stripes. Maybe the sight of that would pull Jim out of his mood when he unwrapped it in a few days. 

Sebastian smiled at the thought; his hope that things might improve was further bolstered when he’d barely put his key in the lock and stepped over the threshold before he heard Jim calling his name. 

“Just a moment,” he called back, stowing the Gieves & Hawkes gift bag in the shoe closet by the door. He loosened his own tie—his time as Moriarty was over now and he could shed the skin it required—and made his way to the office in the back of their flat. 

When Sebastian entered, Jim looked up from his laptop, shutting it with a faintly amused smile on his lips.

He watched Sebastian unbutton his waistcoat, as Seb started in on a brief of the meeting, which he’d assumed was Jim’s reason for calling him back there. “It went well; they believed right off that I was you. Especially when—“ 

“Stripes, Sebastian, _really?”_

Sebastian fell silent and looked down at his own suit, thrown off by the comment and thinking it a critique of his outfit at first. “Sorry, what?” 

“I hope you still have the receipt. It’s such a shame too, that you took the time to gift wrap it,” Jim told him, a parody of disappointment in his tone. He steepled his fingers under his chin, looking up at the sniper. “Still, you spent so long picking it out. How sweet.” 

Despite his common sense telling him otherwise, there were times in Sebastian’s life that Jim seemed to pull information out of thin air and he couldn’t help but wonder if the man was actually psychic. How could he have possibly known all that? If he’d had a tail on Sebastian when he’d left the flat, Sebastian would’ve noticed it. 

At the sight of Sebastian’s baffled expression, Jim rolled his eyes. “CCTV, darling. I’ve watched your every move since you left this afternoon.” 

“Gieves & Hawkes doesn’t have CCTV inside it.”

“No, but the security cameras are tediously easy to hack into.” 

“Jesus,” Sebastian muttered, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging out of it. He let that and his waistcoat fall into a heap on the rug at his feet just to watch the slight distasteful curl of Jim’s lip at the action. He went for his belt next, sliding it through the loops on his trousers before letting it fall to the floor. “Tell me what to get you then, because I’m out of ideas.” 

Jim’s eyes lingered on Sebastian’s hand on the button of his trousers and he slowly licked his lips. “Think on it, tiger. Think _long and hard.”_

Sebastian snorted, his hands stilling on his trousers after popping the button. “That’s all you want?” he asked. “You could get that any time, if you even seemed into it lately. You’ve been acting like such a fucking frigid—“ 

Too far. Jim’s eyes turned from warm melted chocolate to unforgiving flint in seconds as he met Sebastian’s gaze once more. “Frigid,” he echoed, tone soft. Contemplative. 

“Well. You know.” Sebastian kept hold of his trousers with one hand to keep them from slipping off as he bent down to scoop up the rest of his suit with the other. “Maybe it’s just stress from the holidays.” 

Jim still had that odd, contemplative look on his face, as though he weren’t even watching Sebastian anymore, but looking right through him. “Did you know farmers used to geld sheep by taking the animals’ testicles in their mouth and biting down on them—“At this he bared his white teeth, giving a decisive chomp for Sebastian—“And then slicing them off with a sharpened knife? They did it in such a way that the animal wouldn’t bleed to death and would recover completely.”

“…That’s fucking disgusting, Jim.” Jim was definitely watching him now, beetle black eyes sizing him up. This time when his gaze fell on Sebastian’s crotch, Sebastian felt a small shiver ripple through him, resisting the urge to turn away. 

“Hm,” Jim hummed in agreement. “Perhaps, if you’d like to keep your pair intact, you won’t _call me frigid!”_ The end of the sentence came in a shout that was somehow less terrifying than the look Jim had given him previously, like Sebastian was just a living piece of meat Jim was preparing to tear into. 

Sebastian’s fingers tightened on his discarded shirt, further wrinkling it. He was used to the ever-changing cadence of Jim’s voice; the singsong smugness, the cold orders, the shouted threats; it all usually rolled off him like water off a duck’s back. If he got angry every time he was shouted at, he’d have never survived the army, let alone time with Jim. 

This time he’d had enough, though, and he could feel his teeth clench, molars grinding against each other. “Right. Forget it. Is that it, then?”

The abruptness seemed to give Jim pause. “Is what it?” 

“The meeting. Am I done for the day, or do you have anything else for me to do, _boss?”_

“That’s how you’re going to play things now, darling? All business because I made fun of your little gift? Disappointing, Sebastian. I thought you had a thicker skin than that.” 

Jim was right. He normally did. That was why he got on with Jim when no one else did, because Jim’s so-called quirks didn’t bother him. Except now they were adding up and he found himself unable to just shrug them off anymore. 

“You burned down my fucking flat.” The words surprised him once they were out of his mouth. 

“Yes, I did. How many times do you plan on bringing it up?”

Jim was so calm about the whole thing that it made Sebastian’s blood boil and for once he felt like being the one to start shouting. “No, but, you _burned down my fucking flat,”_ he repeated, voice rising. “And now I’m stuck here and I’m trying to make the best of it, but you don’t even want me here. You spend half your time ignoring me, you seem personally offended any time I try to make this place feel somewhat like home and you won’t even let me _touch_ you. If you’re having second thoughts about me being here, then just fucking say it and I’ll go stay in a hotel until I find another flat!”

Throughout his tirade, Jim just watched with interest, as though Sebastian’s fury were a thing of curiosity. “Are you done?” he inquired, when Sebastian fell silent again.

Sebastian nodded jerkily, chest heaving in anger. 

“Well.” Jim’s tone was magnanimous. “If anyone else spoke to me like that, I’d cut out their tongue.” 

“Then do it,” Sebastian shot back. “Or tell me what the fuck your problem is.” 

Jim was on him in seconds, the silver dagger letter opener snatched off the desktop and clasped tightly in his hand. He pushed Sebastian hard against the desk, forcing the taller man to bend awkwardly backwards, his spine pressing uncomfortably against the wooden edge of the desk. Jim reached into Sebastian’s mouth, his fingers forcing Seb’s jaws apart, digging into his soft palate and poking around at his tongue as though he were about to pull it out after all. 

His left hand kept the knife of the letter opener tight against Sebastian’s jaw. Sebastian watched him warily, angry and— _fuck him_ —slightly turned on because things had never been stable between them, but this at least felt a little more normal. He closed his mouth gently onto Jim’s prodding fingers, stilling them. 

Jim laughed, pressing the blade of the knife tighter against Sebastian’s skin until it bit into his flesh, leaving a thin red line in its place, blood beading up at the cut. Sebastian grabbed his wrist, pulling the knife back a fraction of an inch and swallowed thickly, sucking on Jim’s fingers before letting them go. 

Jim pulled his hand back, wiping his saliva-sticky fingers against Sebastian’s cheek. “What’s the worst part about losing your flat?” he asked, his face close enough to Sebastian’s that Seb could smell mint and coffee on his breath. “That you lost everything, or that I organised something like that right under your nose and you had no idea?” 

The previous excitement of their scuffle evaporated in the air around them at the question. It cut deeper than the knife had and Sebastian reached up, easing the blade from Jim’s fingers, letting it clatter onto the desktop once more. 

Wordlessly, he wiped at line of blood on his neck and pushed Jim back, eliciting a bubbling laugh out of him. “Poor Sebastian, all in the dark.”

Sebastian had had enough. “I’m leaving.” 

“Are you now?” 

“Yes.” Sebastian picked up the pieces of his suit that he’d dropped in their scuffle and stalked out of the room, headed to the spare bedroom where his clothes were. He changed into a worn, comfortable pair of jeans and a thermal shirt, pulling on his leather jacket over it. 

He didn’t bother to pack a bag. Who cared at that point, when he owned so little? Let Jim torch the rest of his things, or throw them out. He could do what he liked with them as far as Sebastian was concerned. He seemed to think he owned them anyway. He seemed to think he owned Sebastian entirely, and Sebastian was his, completely, but not like that. Sebastian wanted to feel like it was as much on his terms as on Jim’s.

Angrily, he pulled on a pair of boots, his mind full of all the things he was going to say to him; the grand exit he’d make. If Jim wanted to taunt him and mock him about keeping him in the dark, then he’d see how bloody well he liked it if Sebastian just didn’t bother doing any work at all for a few days. See how well he could organise his long-term plans without Sebastian managing phone calls and schedules and day-to-day minutiae. 

He’d see. He’d fucking see…

He came to a stop in the doorway of the office, a scowl working its way onto his features as he watched Jim pick up the letter opener and gently wipe the blood off the blade almost reverently. He looked hollow around the eyes, exhausted and small in his chair. 

Jim looked up from the knife and caught Sebastian’s eye. When he spoke, his voice held no emotion at all, “Are you going, then?” 

“I should.” Still, Sebastian didn’t move. He waited, breath caught in his throat, needing Jim to say something. Anything. He hoped he’d tell him to stay. Order it, even. 

Jim just continued to toy with the dagger, looking at his own reflection in the blade. 

Sebastian turned and walked out. 

***

The Savoy was tastefully, perfectly decorated for Christmas and Sebastian imagined dousing the entire lobby with lighter fluid and striking a match. The measured opulence reminded him of Jim’s stupid, perfect artificial tree and how everything was fake and beautiful and hollow. 

Once he found his room, he collapsed face first onto the bed and shut his eyes, trying not to think of Jim at all. He could still feel the slow trickle of blood from the cut on his neck soaking into the collar of his shirt and he growled in annoyance. 

In the time it’d taken him to get a cab to the hotel, he’d not got a single text from Jim. Not that he was expecting one. Jim didn’t cajole or beg or apologise. Jim just acted and Sebastian reacted and they both danced around any pretense of real feelings as though spending all their time together meant nothing at all and admitting they had feelings for one another might destroy the tenuous link between them. 

Sebastian had known he was falling in love with Jim inside of the first month. He’d never said it to him, because Jim didn’t— _couldn’t_ —feel the same way, but he wielded his possession of Sebastian even more finely than he had that knife and most of the time it felt enough like love to Sebastian to be called the real thing. 

Except there wasn’t much possession involved if Jim didn’t even want him around and where the hell did that leave either of them? 

***

It was Christmas Eve.

It took Sebastian two days to regain the courage to go back to their flat. Despite his promise to himself that he’d cut things off between them completely, he’d been keeping up his end of the their job as usual; managing Jim’s schedule, firing off emails to clients. Work was something he couldn’t get away from in the end; it felt like something bigger than he or Jim and to neglect it because they’d had a row would spit in the face of everything they’d helped create. 

Besides, if he were honest with himself, he was just a little bit afraid of how easily he might be replaced if he’d stopped working altogether. 

The sun had already set by the time he put his key in the lock, and when he opened the door and saw that their flat was dark, he’d wondered if Jim had gone out. If so, he supposed he’d just wait for him inside, because he’d have to come back eventually. He headed down the hall toward his bedroom, though movement on the balcony to the side of it caught his eye and he realised why the lights were turned off—Jim was looking through his telescope and didn’t want the glare from the lights indoors. 

Living in London provided enough light pollution as it was and Jim had often complained of such when trying to focus his telescope on some far off cluster of stars. If Sebastian were honest with himself, he didn’t really get the allure of staring at the sky for so long, but maybe Jim was looking for something he couldn’t readily find here. 

When Sebastian had looked for something similar, he’d found it within the man looking through the end of the telescope. He opened the door and stepped outside, silently pulling up a chair next to Jim.

As he sat down, he let silence fill the space between them, waiting for Jim to break it. It wasn’t the first time he’d stormed off, nor did he think Jim would ever really believe that it’d be the last, but coming back was always tricky, because Jim’s moods were so up and down even on the best days that leaving him alone for a bit meant he had no idea what he was coming back to. 

For the moment, the consulting criminal seemed placid enough, though. His posture was relaxed, curled around the telescope, eye to the lens, nimble fingers on the dials as he moved it just so. 

“Took you long enough,” he murmured, not looking at Sebastian. 

Sebastian nodded, though he knew Jim couldn’t see him. All the possible answers he could give bubbled up in his throat— _it’s only been two days, Jim_ and _I’m sorry_ and _you could’ve called me_ —in the end, the answer he gave was none of those, but just an observation, a truth he’d been harbouring since walking in the door. “I wasn’t sure if you’d miss me.” 

Jim pulled back from the telescope at that, turning to face Sebastian. He was half-bathed in moonlight, though his head was turned into to accentuate the shadows of his face, the deep caves of his eyes and he almost looked like something ghoulish in the pale light. Still, Sebastian thought him beautiful. “Is that what you wanted? For me to miss you?” 

Sebastian pressed his lips together into a thin line and said nothing. 

He wondered if that’d be it. If that was all they were going to say about this, before Jim spoke again, his Irish tones lilting out something soft, almost hesitant. “The flat felt too quiet. _Don’t_ do it again.” 

“I won’t.” 

“You’re lyinggg…” Jim’s melodious voice cut through the night and he reached out to trace is finger down the long, thin scab on Sebastian’s neck. He wondered how Jim could even see it in such poor light, but there was something almost instinctual about it, as if Jim could just sense every imperfection in his skin and sought them out. 

He was right, too. Sebastian could promise he wouldn’t leave again, but promises wouldn’t make it true and he could no more guarantee that he wouldn’t walk out than Jim could that he’d no longer turn cold and dismissive toward him. They were caught in a mutual tailspin, but they always seemed to right themselves just before hitting the ground. 

“I hope it won’t be a lie,” was all he offered and he took Jim’s hand. His skin was cold from sitting outside too long and Sebastian enclosed his larger fingers over Jim’s, warming them, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the pulse point in his wrist. 

Jim allowed the affection; his hand momentarily motionless in Sebastian’s before intertwining their fingers together and giving his hand a squeeze just short of painful, as though he wanted to return the affection but didn’t know how to give Sebastian anything that didn’t hurt. 

The clumsy gesture put a smile on Sebastian’s face. He watched Jim turn back toward his telescope again, before the action prompted him to remember something and he let go of Jim’s hand to shift up on one hip and pull a slip of paper from his back pocket. “I’ve got your Christmas gift here.” 

“Too impatient to wait until tomorrow morning?” Jim faux-tsked. “What is it? An IOU for more hideous ties?”

“Something like that.” Sebastian passed Jim the paper and watched him pull out his mobile to use as a light to read it by. It was the gift he’d got him the day before on a whim, as he whiled his time away in his hotel room, trying not to think of Jim and being able to think of little else. It was much too sentimental, and Jim didn’t really deserve it with the way he’d treated him, but deserving had never really come into their relationship. Despite the sentimentality, it still felt right. 

He watched Jim read the printout of the email Sebastian had got when he’d made the purchase. It was too dark to see his expression properly, but Jim let out a soft, pleased laugh. “You had a star named after me.” 

“There should be an official plaque coming in the post.” 

“Official? I think the International Astronomy Union _might_ have something to say about that,” he answered, though he read off the coordinates aloud and fixed his telescope in the proper direction all the same. 

“Fuck them, then,” Sebastian answered inelegantly. “That’s your star. It’s about time you expanded your takeover to the rest of the universe.” 

Jim just hummed in affirmation, looking into the telescope’s eyepiece again, fiddling with the dials to get his star into view. He viewed it for a few moments, before pulling back and scooting his chair to the side so Sebastian could see it. 

The star was too far away to see properly; it was just a small ball of light to Sebastian, and even though it was really all just bollocks and not a star they owned at all, it felt like theirs and it pleased him, as did Jim’s hand on the back of his neck, fingers starting to slowly knead the skin there. 

He arched his back, leaning into the touch like an overgrown feline, before standing and turning, Jim’s strong fingers still on the back of his neck as Sebastian pressed his lips against Jim’s. 

Jim kissed him back like he owned him, like he was trying to get inside of him, all tongues and teeth as his hand slid from the back of Sebastian’s neck to cup his jaw. Sebastian gave as good as he got, pouring the frustration he’d felt from the last week into that kiss. 

He didn’t even realise Jim had been backing him up against the door until he felt the back of his head connect with it, a sharp pain that made him wince and gasp into Jim’s mouth as Jim took Seb’s lower lip between his teeth and _tugged._

Sebastian reached behind himself for the door handle, opening it to allow them back into the flat. His other hand was fisted in Jim’s shirt, dragging him forward with him. They tripped backward into the hallway before Sebastian was immediately pressed against the wall again. 

“Watch it,” he growled, swallowing thickly as Jim’s lips dragged over his jaw and down, mouthing at his adam’s apple. 

He could feel the reverberation of Jim’s soft laugh through his throat. “Pet, we both know you like it rough.” 

He did and there wasn’t much room to deny it what with the way his body was already reacting to Jim, though he wasn’t in the mood to let Jim do all the taking. He reached up to Jim’s hair, fingers sliding through the strands and tugging until he heard him gasp.

It was on, then. The slow give and take melted away as they scrabbled at each other, each pulling noises from the other with teeth and hands and the artless way Jim kicked Sebastian’s legs apart to fit his thigh between them, angling up to rub against him until Sebastian rutted back to meet him. 

“You’ve been baaad lately. I’m not sure if I should let you get off tonight,” Jim told him, the lilting singsong of his voice sounding just this side of breathless, try as he might to keep the upper hand. “What do you think? Do you think I should?” 

He kept up a running commentary sometimes when they fooled around, the sound of his own voice seemingly turning him on as much as anything Sebastian’s hands could do to him. Those hands were currently pressing short crescent moon shaped marks into his hips as Seb dug his fingers in hard, gripping him, urging him forward against him. 

“Eager,” Jim murmured, his teeth worrying a bruise onto the juncture of Seb’s neck and throat as his nimble fingers reached between them to unbutton Sebastian’s jeans, dragging the zipper down. 

“Takes one to know one.” Sebastian’s fingers were still in Jim’s hair and he tugged on it again, pulling his head back far enough to press their lips together once more. “Bedroom?” 

“Mm, no. Right here,” Jim decided. “Open the curtains, I want to see the stars.” 

“You’re going to have to let me up, then,” Sebastian answered, and though he could’ve easily pushed Jim off him, he made no move to do so. It would be far from the first time that they’d been too eager to make it to the bedroom and wound up shagging on the floor…or against a wall, or a table, or whichever flat surface seemed most convenient. 

One memorable morning, Sebastian had Jim over the kitchen table, rattling it hard enough it threatened to slosh coffee over the rims of their steaming mugs and send their platters of eggs and bacon crashing to the floor. 

This time, Jim just curled his hand in the front of Sebastian’s shirt much the way Sebastian had done to him moments earlier and tugged him forward, away from the wall. Even in the pale light of the moon shining in through a crack in the curtains, Sebastian could see Jim’s pupils were already blown wide with lust; his eyes like black pools drawing him in. 

Jim looked Sebastian up and down, and then deliberately licked his lips.

Sebastian grinned, shaking his head as he eased Jim’s fingers from his shirtfront, so he could cross the room and open the curtains as asked. “You look like you’re about to devour me.” 

“How do you know that’s not my plan?” 

Sebastian didn’t answer; he just shook his head slightly, his thumb rubbing across his lower lip, swollen slightly from Jim’s insistent teeth. Moonlight flooded the room as he pulled the curtains open and when he turned, Jim was right where he’d left him, impatiently unbuttoning his shirt. 

Sebastian tugged off his own shirt and stepped out of the undone jeans that were sagging low on his hips, revealing the black band of his boxer briefs and a strip of slightly tanned stomach. His pants were next and then he stood there in nothing at all, his eyes trailing over Jim.

Jim’s skin shone alabaster pale in the moonlight, a black trail of hair starting from his belly button and disappearing into his pants as he stepped out of his trousers. 

“Lube?” Sebastian asked.

Jim’s arms rose as though he were stretching, before pillowing the back of his head on his hands against the wall, a lazy smile on his face. “Not tonight. Make me feel it tomorrow.” 

The smile that came to Sebastian’s lips could only be described as feral, and he crossed the room in a few strides, on Jim again. He bit at Jim’s neck as he pulled his pants down and then pressed his index and middle fingers to Jim’s mouth. 

Jim parted his lips and sucked them in, his tongue laving them with saliva. His gaze locked on Sebastian and he purposefully sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks.  
Sebastian’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment and he moaned softly at that, imagining Jim on his knees, those lips wrapped around him. He felt his cock twitch, becoming even harder at the fantasy, and he pulled his fingers from Jim’s lips.

Jim spread his legs further, bringing one of them up to hook around Sebastian’s waist as Seb reached behind him, circling him with his fingers before slowly pressing in with the first one. Jim’s body yielded to him and Sebastian worked the finger in and out until he felt Jim relax enough to take a second. 

He watched the slight furrow between Jim’s brows while he stretched him, Jim’s lower lip caught between his teeth as though he were concentrating very hard on something. Sebastian angled his hand and curled his fingers, knowing Jim’s body well enough that it didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for and soon Jim was gasping, arching against Sebastian and clawing at his back desperately. 

“ _Sebastian_ —!”

Sebastian hissed in a breath at those fingers scratching down his back and dragged his teeth down Jim’s jaw in retaliation. He had half a mind to hold out and see if Jim would beg for it, but Jim was the type to threaten rather than beg and Sebastian’s own self-control was rapidly fading. 

He pulled his fingers out and spat into his hand, slicking up his cock, before repeating the action, trying to get it as wet as he could. When he pressed into Jim, the tight heat of it took his breath away and he stilled a moment to allow the other man to get used to the intrusion. Soon Jim wriggled in impatience and Sebastian took that as his cue to move. 

He pulled out almost completely before thrusting in again, starting to establish a rhythm as Jim’s heel dug into the back of his thigh, kicking him when Sebastian fucked into him with a particularly pleasurable thrust. They were pressed close enough that Jim’s cock rubbed against Sebastian’s stomach as they moved, leaving a slick trail of pre-cum on Sebastian’s skin. 

Sebastian reached between them to wrap his hand around it, stroking him from root to tip in time with his thrusts. Jim groaned, his head thunking back against the wall at the pressure of Sebastian’s hand. His eyes were squeezed shut, torn between thrusting back against Sebastian’s cock and forward into his hand. He settled for rolling his hips between them, as his breathing grew more ragged. 

If Sebastian weren’t so completely distracted by his own movements and the feeling of Jim’s body around him, he’d be smug that Jim’s attention wasn’t on the stars at all. He continued to fuck into him, starting to lose his rhythm as he felt his own orgasm build. 

The white-hot pleasure of it licked at his insides and he tried his best to hold it off, not wanting to be the one to get there first. His free hand had been braced against the wall, but it now found Jim’s neck, fingers roughly caressing the side of it, feeling Jim’s pulse gallop under his fingers. He wrapped his hand around Jim’s neck and _squeezed._

Jim’s eyes snapped open as Sebastian felt Jim’s body tighten around him and despite all of his babbling as they led up to this, as he hovered on the precipice of an orgasm he was always silent, save for a few gasps and hitched breaths as his body gave into the sensation and he shot thickly over Sebastian’s fingers.

Sebastian’s hand was still around Jim’s neck as he felt his own orgasm tidal wave over him and he only just kept the presence of mind not to squeeze hard enough to bruise as he groaned Jim’s name, spilling into his body. He let his hand slip from Jim’s neck then, pressing a panting kiss against his lips before dropping his head down to Jim’s shoulder, feeling as though he’d been the one choked, as if he’d been wrung out as his hips continued to give little twitches of aftershocks. 

Jim’s hands were all over him, clawing and petting in turn, feeling out every inch of Sebastian’s back and the shifting of muscles under the skin as Sebastian caught his breath. Jim’s leg slipped off of Seb’s hip as his legs gave out, sinking to the ground and dragging Sebastian down with him. 

They ended up in a heap on the floor, breathless, laughing with the sheer impossible joy of it all, of feeling relaxed and sated and so pleased. In that moment it was love to Sebastian, it’d always been love, and the way Jim’s fingers reached up to card through Sebastian’s sweaty hair made him feel like it was almost reciprocated, and every single argument they’d ever had was forgotten for the moment. 

Sebastian recovered first and sat up properly, his back against the wall and legs stretched out in front of him as Jim curled up at his side. He reached out for his discarded shirt, wiping the mess off his hands and chest before handing it to Jim to clean up. 

“Best part of living together? We can do that any time we want,” he murmured softly, not wanting to speak too loudly lest it shatter the mood of contentment that surrounded them. 

“Mm,” Jim nodded in agreement. He took the shirt from Sebastian. “That’s true. Though I don’t remember your not living here really impeding that greatly.” 

“Still. It’s nice.” 

Jim just made another small sound of affirmation. He was always quieter after they slept together; pliant and calm and happy, as though an orgasm was the only thing that was enough to actually calm the storm in his mind. 

Sebastian decided to press his luck. “I’m surprised you agree, considering the week we had.” 

“There was a certain adjustment period.” His cheek was pressed against Sebastian’s shoulder; he could feel the vibration of Jim’s words as he spoke. 

“That’s what that was?” 

“What else would it be?” Jim raised his head enough to nip languidly at Sebastian’s chest.

Sebastian’s fingers skimmed lightly over the knobs of Jim’s spine. “I don’t know. Cold feet?”

“I don’t get cold feet.” He looked at the bite mark before apparently not deeming it dark enough and repeating the action, gnawing at Sebastian’s skin to leave his mark. “I haven’t lived with anyone since I was a child.” 

Of course he hadn’t, and that was something that Sebastian hadn’t really considered before. He knew the fate of Jim’s parents, but they never discussed it, just like they never brought up the topic of Sebastian’s father. The past was best left where it was, though it did shed some light on how cold Jim had been towards him. He’d been on his own a long time.

After a moment, Jim spoke again, breaking into Sebastian’s thoughts. “Your gift is under the tree.” 

“What?” Sebastian turned his head to look down at him. “I thought the demise of my flat was my gift.” 

“Then consider this part two.” 

“I’m almost afraid to see what it’ll be,” Sebastian teased, untangling himself from Jim and climbing to his feet. He pulled his jeans on again, not bothering to zip them as he headed into the living room to retrieve his package. 

It was a long, rectangular thing, wrapped in silver paper and tied with a dark blue bow; very tasteful, very Jim. He turned on the living room light, blinking against the sudden brightness and settling with the gift on the sofa as Jim walked in, doing up his trousers. 

Sebastian tore the wrapping from the box and then opened it, looking down at the Barrett M82 that nestled innocently inside. “Which job is this for?” 

“Nothing specific.”

“You mean it’s just a gift?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” 

Sebastian lifted it out of the box reverently, hands sliding over the cool metal as he pieced it together. “Thank you.” 

“Merry Christmas, tiger.”


End file.
